


The Untraceable Weave

by MisplacedReality



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, F/M, Slow Burn, cookie obsession, extended DA cast, love and heartbreak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2062488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisplacedReality/pseuds/MisplacedReality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The threads we weave through this waking Fade, twist and turn in ways not even the Old Gods could predict.  Threads, tightly bound, unravel with ease while others are cut short before their pattern completes.  But all find their place, in the end.</p><p>Stories and explorations for the in-between sections of the DA: O plot.  Includes story lines from DA:O, the DLCs and dabbles in the tie-in novels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Birds of a Feather...

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the dialogue in this chapter is lifted straight from the game, though I've changed the setting a bit.

Zevran Arainai was a very lucky man. Especially when he did not want to be.

He debated how much longer to keep the rouse going. Already his extremities had gone numb and his shoulders tingled. Under any other circumstance, being tied up by a dangerously beautiful woman would have had his blood racing to more exciting extremities. Given that he had just attempted to assassinate said woman, the sensuality was somewhat removed from the situation. Alas.

He’d been feigning unconsciousness for longer now than he’d actually been out, which afforded him time to learn some interesting things about his captors. Most importantly, that they’d left him alive. An unusual—and irksome—choice.

Several of his captors agreed with him. There had been quite an argument when they’d arrived at camp. Showing an intriguing aptitude for knot tying, the female Warden rather expertly secured his arms behind his back. The others in the group deferred to her as leader, and she was the reason his throat remained unslit. Three of those in their merry group, including the male Warden, had all counseled to kill him before he had a chance to try again.

She hadn’t said much in response. Just watched him. Well, he assumed she watched him. It was difficult to verify and maintain his rouse. Night had fallen some time ago. As the sound of shifting leathers reached him, he knew the Warden approached him and the time to end the charade had come. Either she would take the advice of her more ruthless—and practical--companions or he would need to talk his way out of this. Dying in battle was one thing, but the inability to coerce someone into sparing his life a second time would sully his magnificent reputation.

Besides, a long term plan began to take shape in his mind.

She knelt next to him, moving quietly enough to impress him. She’d obviously had training in the more subtle arts. Lots of people could wield daggers in combat, but few with as much finesse as she had used against him. He monitored his breathing carefully, striving to keep the tension he felt from showing in his body.

She leaned close enough to block the firelight from his face. “I’m tired of waiting for you, assassin.”

Behind the tension in her voice, Zevran detected a bit of humor. Oh, he was going to like this Warden. Provided he lived long enough to do so. Before Zevran’s grin could give him away, his eyes snapped open and he pressed his lips against her throat. The kiss only lasted a few moments, barely long enough to tease her skin with his tongue , before she pulled a safe distance away from him.

He kept grinning, blinking against the brightness of the nearby fire. The other Warden responded swiftly, approaching him with sword drawn. Had the situation not been so tense, Zevran would have laughed at the jealousy so plainly evident on the man’s face. Fereldeners had no concept of subtlety.

The female Warden stopped him, eyes wide in shock. Or was that amusement? Humans could be so hard to read at times, with their tiny eyes. She opened her mouth to say something but the assassin beat her to it.

Zevran groaned, pushing himself onto his elbow. “I had rather though I would wake up dead. Or not wake up at all, as the case may be. But, I see you haven’t killed me yet.”

After that, he did what he did best: he talked. Anything he could think of to save his skin came tumbling out of his mouth. Mostly it seemed not to work, especially on her companions. After detailing Loghain’s involvement with their attempted assassination, it seemed unlikely they’d be swayed to let his pretty head remain on his lovely neck. Not until he got to part about the Crows.

“A bargain, too, or so I am told.” He shrugged as best he could with his hands bound.

She frowned ever so slightly. Pity had kept him alive on more than one occasion and he wasn’t above using it to his advantage. Zevran wasn’t above using _anything_ to his advantage, no matter the considerable amount of trouble it might cause him down the road, as it almost always did.

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard of the Crows. They’re quite infamous.”

“Not for being good assassins, I presume.”

Her tone was joking but he could still see the disapproval in her frown.

“Oh, fine, is that was you Fereldeners do? Mock your prisoners? Such cruelty.”

The discussion continued as Zevran listed the numerous—and lewd—services he could provide the Warden. It did not go particularly well, and desperation sounded in his voice.

 “Alright,” she said after an uncomfortably long silence. “If you want a chance to redeem yourself, you can join us.”

“What?” The male warden sputtered, taking a step toward her. “You’re bringing the assassin along? Is that really such a good idea?”

A challenge to her authority? Odd that she did not strike him for such an offense.

“He’s Alistair.” She said to Zevran, inclining her head toward the human. “And he’d do well to remember that we are but five against a Blight. We need all the help we can get.”

“Alright, alright, I see your point.” Alistair said, glaring at Zevran. “Still, if there was a sign we were desperate I think it just knocked on the door and said hello.”

“And you,” she shoved a finger toward the elf. “Will never call me a sex goddess again.”

“That depends on many things, my dear Warden. Including what you intend to do before removing these bonds.” He held up his wrists.

“I think it’s a good idea. To bring him with us, I mean.” The redheaded Chantry sister said, kneeling next to him and expertly severing the ropes. “Having an Antivan Crow join us could be useful in many ways. I am Leliana and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Ah, another companion to be, then?” Zevran said, quickly regaining his footing to gently take the Orlesian’s hand and help her up from the ground. “I wasn’t aware such loveliness existed amongst adventurers, surely.”

“Then again,” she said, snatching her hand back from him. “Maybe not.”

“Welcome to our hopeless quest, Zev.” The Warden said, clasping his arm.

“I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you.” Zevran said, meeting her eyes. “Until such time as you see fit to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation…this, I swear.”

“Odd words from a man who just tried to kill me.” She grinned at him, but it was obvious she did not expect such an oath from him.

“The Crows send their best,” he lied. “It is clear Ferelden held more than they anticipated.”

He squeezed her arm before releasing it. The truth was his to keep. Whether or not she believed him did not matter for the time being. He stretched, casually running his hands over himself. When he didn’t find what he expected the Warden chuckled.

“You’ll find your impressive weapon collection over there.” She pointed to a large, cloth wrapped mound by the fire. “I am curious, though. Did we find them all?”

He wiggled slightly. “Ah. No, at least one yet remains.”

Leliana giggled as he recovered his weapons. Next to the pile were several traveling packs, one of which he recognized as his own. He grabbed his and checked the contents. Very select vials were missing.

“You may consider your missing concoctions payment for attempted assassination.” The enticingly naked mage said and turned toward the Warden. “All the same, I would examine your food and drink more closely now, were I you.”

“That’s excellent advice for anyone.” Zevran said in approval.

He was introduced to the others and the camp settled into its routine, albeit in a rather tense fashion. Though, Zevran delighted in making people uncomfortable. Especially if they were likely to kill him. It had made life in the Crows frequently interesting.

The dwarven merchant that camped with them introduced himself and his odd son. Happily he was willing to exchange his Antivan crowns for whatever the dog lords considered currency. Surprisingly, the sovereigns at least, did not look too dissimilar to proper money. An extended stay in Ferelden had not entered his mind when he’d planned for the contract. It wouldn’t be long before his lack of supplies became problematic.

He settled a bedroll not far from the fire. The mabari padded over to him and jabbed his muzzle against the pack.

“Now, now, now, my friend.” He said, pulling the pack away from the dog. “I know what you are after. And I don’t think your delicate Ferelden palate could handle it.”

The dog whined at him, cocking his head to the side.

“No, no. In this, I am right, I am sure.” He pulled out a well-oiled animal skin and unwrapped it to show strips of dehydrated meat and held one up before the dog. “Only the finest cut of venison spends seven days marinating in _chiles_ from the southernmost tip of—“

He was cut off as the mabari enclosed his entire hand inside the beast’s mouth. Before he could react, the dog ran off with the dried meat, leaving him with nothing more than a handful of drool.

“You come back here, mongrel!” He shouted after the dog, flicking strings of spittle from his fingers. “You will not steal my rare, Antivan delicacy without hearing what makes it such a fine delicacy!”

The Warden walked up to him with a grin on her face. “I guess that’s an official welcome from Barksy. He has a tendency to destroy personal belongings.”

“He’ll regret it. As I’m sure we all will.”

“We’ll be heading out at first light. Do you have all you need for the night?”

He looked from the empty bedroll to the Warden. “I could think of one thing—“

She shot him a scathing look.

“Too soon?” He said with a smile. “Alas. Perhaps one of the others…”

She sighed. “There are only so many times I can convince them not to kill you.”

“An excellent point. Perhaps I shall sleep alone tonight.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“We shall find out in the morning.”

She shook her head at him and turned to leave.

“Warden,” he said and she stopped to look at him. “If I may ask, where are we headed?”

She pursed her lips and considered him a moment. “The Circle of Magi.”

His eyes lit up. “Ah! A Circle. Wonderful. I’ve always found mages to be the most eager and adventurous bedfellows.”

The Warden stared at him a moment then turned and walked away. Zevran chuckled to himself. Whatever greater force there was beyond the Fade certainly had a sense of humor. The dog huffed at him.

“As if you are one to lecture _me_ on resisting urges.”

The dog vomited his Antivan delicacy all over the dirt.

 


	2. Explorations in the Dark

The journey back to Redcliffe from the Circle was more crowded than the one they’d made there. A handful of traumatized mages and a templar could really spice up the mood in a traveling party. An elven lass was with them, and though Zevran fantasized many ways to get past those robes, she was too intrigued by Sandal and the simpleton’s enchantments to notice his attempts. Alas.

According to the rumors he’d heard, Ferelden was in the midst of a Blight. Yet in his travels from the coast and his searching for the Wardens, Zevran had not encountered a single darkspawn, let alone an entire horde’s worth. He almost wondered if the whole thing was a pretext to disguise the civil war looming on the country’s horizon.

A few weeks had passed since he’d awoken in the custody of the Warden and her companions. In addition to the constant threat of bandits, rain staining his leathers and the inescapable smell of wet mabari, the living conditions left much to be desired. The roadside inns and taverns of Ferelden were only slightly better than sleeping outdoors. At least they kept the rain and snow off him. Though they paled next to the hot weather and finery of being a Crow in Antiva. Memories and assassins be damned, he was ready for a dimly lit whorehouse and a full bed.

They had set camp for the night, just a day’s ride from Redcliffe, and the Wardens seemed on edge. The strikingly handsome, if unbearably boring, Alistair had his head bent low toward their beautiful leader. And from the expression on the human’s face, the conversation was not going along the same route he would have taken were he that close to a beautiful woman. Zevran let his mind follow along that lecherous line and the grin was still on his lips as the Lady approached him.

“I am at your command,” he said with a slight bow. “A joy for me to serve such a lovely Warden as yourself, I assure you.”

Not the sort of greeting she expected as it gave her pause. She frowned at him.

“You do not enjoy flattery? I find this hard to believe that a woman of your position is not accustom to it.”

The Warden snorted. “I am the daughter of a Ferelden noble. Flattery only means you’re trying to convince me of something I won’t agree with.”

Zevran’s eyebrows shot up. “Nobility? My lady, I did not realize. A thousand pardons begged.”

He fell to one knee and lowered his head to hide his grin. It had the effect he hoped. She huffed in annoyance and hauled him to his feet. The strength of her grasp sent a shiver through him.

“Thank you for assuaging any sort of guilt I felt about this. Come with me. The reserves are low. We’ll need to find water if there will be stew tonight.”

Guilt? His hands fell casually to his daggers as he kept pace with her and headed into the woods. For all that he’d seen of her so far, the Warden fell decidedly on the honorable and trustworthy side. Though, that did not usually mean a healthy future for elves like Zevran. He followed her carefully, keeping just out of arms reach.

The moon shone nearly full, lighting their surroundings well, but they waited a moment for the Warden's eyes to adjust to the darkness before heading too far from camp. Silence surrounded them, the lovely sort of silence that comes about when two people, well trained in stealth walk through a forest. The mercenaries he’d hired to complete his contract had been lumbering, tactless thugs. Honestly, he’d been surprised they knew which end of the sword to point at the Wardens.

Which led him to a more unpleasant and suspicious thought. What was the Warden’s true motivation? Any of their many companions could have gone with her to fetch water. Indeed, an assassin previously employed to kill her would hardly be the natural first choice to wander alone in the woods with. A convenient location to stage an “ambush” where he would be left for dead? It did have a certain charm to it. Nervousness radiated from the tension of her shoulders and the way her gaze darted around them. It set him on edge.

“I must admit,” he said in a casual voice, giving no hint of the anxiety he felt. “I was surprised to find a woman among the Wardens.”

She sighed, her eyes scanning the trees beyond them. “I’ve heard that a lot.”

Though the sound of it was lovely, Zevran disliked long silences when he suspected his conversationless partner was going to kill him. When people were too busy chatting to expect a dagger slipped between their ribs, he had the advantage.

“Even more surprised to find you are a nobleman’s daughter.”

“Why is that surprising?”

“You are quite capable on the battle field, my Lady. Of this, I can attest, personally.”

“I take it Antivan nobility are not as versed in the martial arts?”

“Ah, not as such, no. The noble women even less so.” They pushed passed a copse of small trees and the Warden paused, her head cocked to one side as though listening for something. “Antivan nobles prefer to plot and scheme behind closed doors while letting others do the dirty work.”

“Like the Crows?”

He chuckled and bent to adjust his boot, palming the poison tipped throwing knife hidden just inside the crude leather. “You are familiar with politics, I see.”

“More than I’d care to be.”

She changed their direction with a sense of purpose. Her stride confident enough to make Zevran wonder if she were already acquainted with the surroundings.

“We are not so far removed from foreign occupation,” she went on, “that nobles are willing to let their children grow up unable to defend themselves. More than they could anticipate.”

Her expression darkened and it seemed she spoke of more than the Blight. Zevran did not push the issue. There had been little opportunity to talk while on the road, and now that she was doing so freely he did not want to stop her. It afforded him the chance to study her. She moved stiffly and kept looking around as though distracted. By what, he could not say.

“Ferelden women are just as common as men on the battlefield. Why the Wardens choose to discriminate I did not have the chance to ask.” The woman stopped, resting a hand against her stomach before setting off in another direction. “What is being a Crow like?”

The question gave him pause. “What is it like? You might as well ask this tree what it think of wood.”

“You’re saying you were born to be an assassin?”

He _hmm’d_ thoughtfully. “Not born, as such. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased and trained from then on to be a Crow.”

“Are the Crows in the habit of buying slaves?” She said darkly.

“Not slaves.” Zevran said, amused by her outrage. “Recruits. The Crows get all their assassins that way. Buy them young and raise them to know nothing else but murder. If you do poorly in your training, you die.”

She paused and looked at him. “Zevran, that sounds awful.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. If you’re good enough to survive, you get to enjoy the benefits. Being a Crow in Antiva gets you wealth. It gets you women. Or men. Whatever you fancy.”

“And what is it you fancy, exactly?”

Flirtations? If she hadn’t been so distracted, Zevran might suspect the Warden dragged him out here for pleasure. With all the stress she endured, the sort of diversion he could provide would do her plenty of good. Zevran grinned, lowering the pitch of his voice.

“I fancy many things. I fancy things that are beautiful and strong. I fancy things that are dangerous and exciting.” And with the moonlight shining upon her daggers and the swell of her breasts under her armor, with the question of whether or not she would kill him hanging in the air, Zevran had not seen anything so beautiful in a very long time. He recalled the taste of her skin under his tongue and wanted to try more. “Would you be offended if I said I fancied you?”

She placed a hand on his arm and he flinched.

“Be on your guard.” She whispered, pulling her daggers from their sheaths.

They had approached a large pool of water bubbling up between a collection of boulders. And it was then Zevran saw the true reason for her behavior. There was a stillness in the air, one he’d been too focused on the Warden to notice. No birds. No wildlife. Silence.

“We are not alone.” He said, just as quietly.

Others had been drawn to this spot. A company of humans—bandits, farmers, he could no longer tell for certain—had met a gruesome end. Judging by the state and smell of the corpses, they had been there for quite some time. Bodies and bits of bodies floated in the water, bloated and distorted, surrounded by filth too dark to be blood.

“So much for stew.” The Warden muttered.

“What—“ Zevran began and stopped.

A creature squatted next to one of the bodies. At first, he’d thought it to be nothing more than a forgotten backpack. But it turned toward them, eyes glittering in the dark. Zevran took an involuntary step backwards as the thing let out a high pitched shriek.

The Warden sprang into action, leaping forward, swinging her daggers in a wide arc. The thing was not able to step out of the way in time and her blades caught it across the thigh. Blood, blacker than anything he’d seen before, spurted from the wound and splashed across her armor. It clung in giant globs and, for a moment, Zevran stood transfixed. The beast swung it’s crude mace toward the Warden, a blow she only barely deflected.

That snapped him out of his horrified stupor. He crept forward and flanked the creature, fear turning his stomach cold. With as much force as he could manage, he shoved his dagger into the thing’s neck, sliding the blade in to the hilt.

It cried out. A horrible, gurgling screech as it fell to its knees. Zevran jerked away, taking his blade with him. The Darkspawn—for that is surely what it was—reached one gnarled claw toward the Warden and breathed its last.

She stood upright, shaking the grime from her hands. “Nice work.”

Zevran’s breath came in gasps and though he was loathe to admit it, his hands shook. “What _is_ that thing? Are there more?”

She shook her head. “Just the one. A scout, perhaps. Or one separated from its compliment.”

With a grunt, she rolled the beast onto its back. The soil beneath it already stained the color of pitch.

“We call this a genlock.” She said, angling its face toward the moonlight. “And, once upon a time, it was a dwarf.”

“ _That_ was a dwarf?”

Other than its size, the creature bore little resemblance to the people of the Stone. Its dead eyes were entirely black, and its needle sharp teeth seemed to rip themselves from its gums. Zevran shuddered.

“I didn’t have much opportunity to learn of them. The darkspawn, I mean. Though I know they make more of themselves…from us.” She sighed and pulled one of her gore stained gloves off. “May you find peace in the Stone, traveler.”

The Warden studied the elf carefully. As his heartbeat slowed and his mind cleared, several things clicked into place.

“You knew this darkspawn was here.” He said.

“I did. Though, I had also hoped for stew.”

“How?”

She frowned. “It is part of being a Grey Warden.”

“Then why bring me here? A test of my nerve?”

She frowned. “Of sorts. An assassin is a tool—a weapon. I understand that better than my companions.”

Zevran arched an eyebrow at her.

“You agreed to help my cause in exchange for your life. I wanted to make sure you knew what you’d really signed up for.”

“And now that I know, I may choose death by your hand instead?”

“I’m not making this clear, am I?” She sighed and rubbed her forehead, leaving mud—blood?—smeared along the way. “If you choose to leave, I won’t stop you. I hold no grudge against you for what you were hired to do. However, if we fail here in Ferelden, it wouldn't be long before Antiva would not be safe for you.”

“It already has a guild of assassins that would see me dead.”

She grinned. “Perhaps the darkspawn would distract them for you, then.”

He gazed down at the creature, unable to look away from its twisted, unnatural form. The desire to flee was strong, there was no denying that. But the Warden was right. How many refugees had they already passed on the roads? And though he had not fully settled his mind on the course he should take, he did not want to risk an encounter with several of these creatures alone on the road.

“For now,” he said. Deftly pulling a handkerchief from the cuff of his bracer, he stepped close to the Warden. She tensed, the grip on her dagger tightening. He smiled grimly at her. “I do believe the best place to be, in the midst of a Blight, is beside the last two Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden, no?”

He reached up, wiping the stain from her forehead with a gentle caress. She stepped back from him and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear.

“My thanks.” She said, pulling off the other glove. “Come along. The water is lost to the taint. We might as well head back to camp.”

She pulled a small wax cloth bundle from a pouch around her waist and unwrapped what looked like some sort of biscuit of grain and dried fruit. Much to his surprise, she shoved half the pastry in her mouth.

“I must say,” she said, covering her mouth in a demure fashion. “You’re handling this quite well. Leliana vomited for nearly an hour after her first encounter with the darkspawn.”

“You’re…eating?”

“Oh.” She said, as though it had only just occurred to her to be an odd time for a meal. “I—it’s a Warden thing. Apparently. The newly joined have an increased appetite as the body adjusts. I’ve been told it will pass…”

In the low light it was impossible to tell, but Zevran was sure the Warden blushed at the admission. Ah, how he would love to see that. The woman that dispatched assassins and monsters with ease, embarrassed at having a healthy—if oddly timed—appetite.

Zevran allowed himself a chuckle, glad that her human eyes could not see his frown. He had come to this foreign and smelly land seeking an easy death he had not received. But Ferelden, much like the Warden herself, turned out far different than he’d expected. He had not figured out of this was a good thing or not.

“If being in the Crows affords one such benefits, why would you want to leave?”

And just like that, their conversation resumed. As though evil itself hadn’t interrupted her. Zevran smiled. He knew he would like this Warden.

“Other than giving you reason to spare my life?”

Her manner had changed entirely. Prior to the encounter, she’d been preoccupied. Now, walking at a casual pace and eating a biscuit, it was as though they were old friends, strolling through the woods. Old friends that might kill each other, should circumstances shift slightly.

“You could always try to complete the contract.” She said in a sly voice. “After all, you know where I sleep. You know what I eat.”

Such a brazen challenge. Zevran had to admit, her words thrilled him slightly.

“Tempting as the thought might be, I do not think it would do well for my continued survival. Being an assassin,” he shrugged, “it is a living, as far as such things go. I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. When the choice presented itself, why would I not take it?”

“What would you rather do?” She asked, dusting the crumbs from her armor.

Zevran blinked. “In truth, I have not thought much upon that. Presuming there is a future, perhaps it would be interesting to go into business for myself. Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go.”

“Won’t the Crows come looking for you?”

“Ah, you forget, dear Warden. They sent their best. What could I have to fear of the Crows? Besides, I know their tricks and cunning ways. It will be some time before they are able to track me down.”

She grinned and shook her head as firelight flickered through the trees ahead of them.

“Sorry to have sprung the darkspawn on you. Apparently, I should have realized the best of the Crows could handle the creatures with ease.” She rested a hand casually on his shoulder. “Though, I am happy to have you along. You certainly make things more interesting.”

“And here I am, happy to be had. Isn’t it nice when things work out such ways?”

She returned to camp, his skin still warm where her hand had rested. By all accounts, she was a fool for letting him live. And an even greater fool for giving him numerous opportunities to complete the contract. Instead, she showed him kindness—as much as taking him into the woods to discover the horror that they faced, without damaging his pride in front of the others, could be considered kindness. Compassion should hold no place in her duty.

She’d even given him the option to leave. And yet, here he was. Several times over, in fact.

His true purpose in Ferelden had not required knowledge of the Wardens. They needed to be skilled warriors and nothing else. The woman that spared him was a mystery to him, other than what she’d told him of herself. Which, as he thought over their conversation that evening, had been very little. She managed to extract nearly his whole life history and mentioned next to nothing of herself. How had she done that?

He’d need to be more cautious in the future, lest stories best remained buried come to light. One of the mages that had joined them—Wynne, he thought her name was—seemed to know the Wardens. Perhaps she would be able to shed some light on just who it was he traveled with. And, if he were lucky, the mage would be in as much need of relieving tension as he was and they’d find a dark section of the camp to explore the possibilities further.

“Do not think I have not noticed your _many_ charms, mage.” He said, grinning to himself as he approached the camp. “Allow me to share some of mine, as well. Ooh, yes. I will say that.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those that read and those that left kudos! Your encouragement means a lot to me. You'll notice some game dialogue in this chapter as well. Many thanks to Gaider and the Bioware team for making such a flippin' awesome game. Also, many thanks to FluffyNinjaLlama on Youtube for their DA Romance playlists. There are a treasure for fanfic authors.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Next chapter....Leliana!


	3. Shopping

Denerim was the drabbest capitol city Leliana had ever seen.  The dirt roads were brown.  The buildings were brown.  Brown dogs ran everywhere and brown dirt covered the people.  And in the Market District, no less.  Some poor soul had attempted to bring life into the central shops with a brightly colored banner.  It just came off as tacky.  All it managed to do was point out how boring the rest of the city was.

Only one shop showed any sign of having taste and, of course, the owner was Orlesian.

“And the dogs!  Everywhere are the dogs, getting into my shipments and my displays.  It is just horrid.”

Leliana giggled and placed a hand consolingly on the raven haired woman’s shoulder.  “I know exactly what you mean.  Although, it is the smell that is getting to me.  I don’t think this country ever dries out.  Everything smells of mildew.  Constantly.”

The shopkeep sighed and looked wistfully over Denerim square.  “There are days when snow has covered everything and if you look through your eyelashes, just right, you can imagine the sparkling lights of Val Royeaux.”

“Have you ever thought of returning?  It sounds like you miss Orlais dearly.”

The woman’s cheeks flushed and she turned her gaze away.  “Unfortunately, madam, even those who do not play the Game can lose it.”

Leliana’s eyes softened.  “How true that is.”

Below her right shoulder, a muscle deep in her back twitched uncomfortably.  The finest, black market doctors assured her the wound was healed entirely.  Any lingering pain must be a symptom of the trauma she endured.  Leliana was inclined to believe them.  It did not help the phantom pain from spreading through her whenever those buried memories surfaced.

“If you are looking for happier memories of our home,” the shopkeep said, reaching for a small crystal vial with an ornate, ivory label.  “May I suggest sampling this?”

“No,” Leliana breathed in disbelief, gingerly taking the bottle from the woman.  “This cannot be the mark of Antoine de Faullies!  Here in Ferelden?  How ever did you manage such a thing?”

The woman’s eyes sparkled.  “I did not leave Val Royeaux without friends still in the White City.”

Leliana pulled the stopper form the vial and, with trembling fingers, lifted the rim to her nose.  Scent overwhelmed her and whisked her away.  To glittering city streets and candlelit parties, where, in a dimly lit corner, fabric rustled and ladies giggled.

“Oh, it is perfect.”  Leliana swooned, tracing her fingers along the edge of the bottle.

“You are the first I have found that can truly appreciate it.  For five sovereigns, my lady, it is yours.”

Leliana gasped.  “But that is far too little.  The shipping cost alone must be more than that.  And me on the road in these dusty leathers.”

The shopkeep leaned toward Leliana and lowered her voice conspiratorially.  “Better sold to a proper Orlesian than one of the dog lords.”

It was true Ferelden had little understanding of the finer things, but they also had little use for them.  They were not an uncouth people.  Merely…practical.  She would have a better understanding of why the fragrance were so special, though.

And what would the Reverend Mother say at her vanity?  In such a time of great need, those sovereigns would be better spent aiding the unending stream of refugees and Blight orphans.  Or maintaining her equipment.  What good would a lovely smelling corpse make if her armor failed her?

Still…when one’s safety was uncertain, small treasures could remind one of what was worth fighting for.

Leliana paid the woman the paltry sum and did not let regret cloud her mind.  After thanking her and bidding farewells, Leliana strolled away.  She might need to eat fewer rations for a while, but it was worth it.  Delicately, with her pinky finger, Leliana traced the perfumed oil along the side of her neck and at the hollow of her throat.

Memories raced unbidden to her mind.  Another time, ages ago, when perfumed oil  spread by another’s hand brought her to the edge of ecstasy, late into the night when there was no one to please but each other.

It was difficult to tell which ached more, her heart or the long healed wound from her lover.  Though, there wasn’t much difference, she supposed.

Leliana shook her head.  Her thoughts had grown silly and morose.  Dwelling on painful memories would not change them.  Across the marketplace, the Warden stood deep in conversation with Guard Captain Whats-His-Face.  Whatever they discussed, it did not look to be a pleasant topic.  A frown creased her lovely brow and Leliana _tsked_ in disapproval.  She frowned too often lately.  Her skin would wrinkle.

She chuckled to herself.  Orlais never truly leaves you, she thought, no matter how far you travel.  What would one of the last Grey Wardens of Ferelden care for wrinkles in the midst of a Blight?

The woman noticed her and waived.  As much as Leliana did not long to dwell on painful memories, she could not help but notice the stark difference between her former mentor and her new leader.  They were both remarkably beautiful, but where Marjolaine was sharp and shrewd, the Warden was more like the warm embrace of the Maker, her kindness only improving her beauty.  Though Leliana’s training forced her to see all the weak points kindness afforded, she knew the Warden would not have made it as far as she did without a will of steel.

It only made her more attractive.

Leaving the Guard Captain, the Warden made her way to Leliana, a small bundle in her hands.

“Good morning, my friend.”  Leliana said, linking her am through the Warden’s.  “I must say, in all the finest feathered beds of Orlais I have slept on, none felt as wonderful as the one in the tinniest inn in Denerim.”

The Warden smiled and ducked her head.  “I’m sorry.  I know you’re used to better accommodations…”

Leliana shook her head.  “Don’t be.  This is an adventure after all.  What sort of proper adventure doesn’t involve waking up covered in snow?”

The Warden frowned, looking down at her hands.  Something was wrong and it sent a nervous flutter through her stomach.  They came to a stop near the Chantry and in the background Sister X said SOMETHING SILLY.

“What is that?”  Leliana asked, pointing at the package in her hands.

“Oh,” the Warden said, pulling away from the bard.  “I’d nearly forgotten.  I was looking for you to—“

She stopped leaning in close and breathing deeply near Leliana’s neck.  “You smell incredible.” 

A jolt burst through her stomach as the Warden’s breath brushed her skin.  Leliana stammered, trying to think of a response, but the Warden returned her focus to the bundle in her hands.  The bard sighed.  How embarrassing that would have been in Orlais!  To not have flirtations read in any circumstance.  Perhaps she’d spent too long in the Chantry, after all.

The Warden pulled the canvas edges of the fabric apart.  Nestled in the cloth was a small, slightly squashed flower.  A red vein trailed along the white petals.  Leliana’s breath caught in her throat.

“It’s not in the best of shape.”  The Warden apologized, lifting it gently by the stem.  Light caught one of the petals and sparkled in the sun.

“Andraste’s grace.”  Leliana breathed, taking the blossom from the Warden.  “Where did you find it?”

“Well,” she scratched at her neck.  “Shale found it, actually.  It must have been while we were in Redcliffe.  As we traveled here I noticed a clump of dirt wedged between her…ah…backside.”

Leliana blinked several times and burst into laughter.  It could not have been more perfect.  She closed her eyes and inhaled the blossom’s fragrance.  And it was as though her mother stood beside her again, wrapped in the perfume of Orlais.  Her strong, Ferelden mother.  What would she think of her daughter, after all this time?  Tears stung her eyes.

“Thank you, my friend.  I did not think you would remember our talk.”

The Warden smiled sadly and bit her lip.  The nervous flutter in Leliana’s stomach grew.  Whatever the Warden had to say, Leliana did not want to hear it.  Many of her secrets lived on in Denerim and she was not ready for them to be known.  She was not convinced her place at the Warden’s side was secure enough to withstand the knowledge.

 “Did you find Brother Genitivi?”

“What?”  The Warden blinked at her.  “Oh.  No.  Though his home is here in the Marketplace.  There’s just…”

Leliana reached out and grasped the woman’s hand.  To comfort her?  To keep her from attacking? 

“What’s wrong, my friend?”

She took a deep breath.  “The darkspawn reached Lothering.”

Leliana placed a hand against her lips.

“Most of the residents evacuated,” the Warden went on.  “From what I’ve heard, many within the Chantry stayed to assist.  The darkspawn yet hold the area.  Any who survived have surely escaped by now.  The Reverend Mother and TEMPLAR were not among them.  I’m so sorry.”

The women stood in silence.  Around them, the bustle of the city went on as though nothing had changed.  This was not what she’d been expecting.  A cold feeling settled into Leliana’s stomach.  How _did_ she feel?  How would she be expected to feel?  That those two were still separate pained her. 

“When I arrived at Lothering,” Leliana said, voice quiet.  “I was very far from the woman standing here.  That I found peace at all, was only thanks to the Reverend Mother’s kindness.  They did not deserve such a fate.”

“It is an era of undeserved fate.”  The Warden said, looking older than Leliana had ever seen.  “It is impossible to avoid tragedy in the midst of a Blight.  Knowing that doesn’t soften the weight of grief.”

The Warden never spoke of what happened to her family.  News reached Denerim of a shift in power in Highever, though.  Old habits die hard, and with a few coins, Leliana learned Loghain had declared the Couslands traitors to the crown.  Nonsense, of course, but the only way for the claim to stand uncontested, was there to be no one to contest it.  And with the Grey Wardens declared traitors as well, justice for the Couslands did not appear within reach.

An ache spread through Leliana’s chest.  She wanted to weep.  To cry for the lives lost and the unfairness of it all.

“I don’t think I like Denerim all that much,” she said, her voice hitching.

The Warden squeezed her hand.

“It isn’t all bad.”  She said, pulling Leliana forward.  “It’s got the crazy chanter that can’t make any sense, let alone recite the Chant.”

Leliana giggled as the Sisters glowered at them.

“And if you haven’t met Wade yet, you’re in for a treat.  Bring some sort of rare material if you want the best show.  The pies at the Gnawed Noble aren’t terribly greasy.  And you can sleep without listening to Alistair snore.”

Leliana smiled at her.  “Of course.  How could I have forgotten such treasures?”

“I’m sorry to bring you such news.”  The Warden said with sincerity.  “I just didn’t want you to hear it on the street.”

“Thank you, my friend.  Your kindness is a balm to me.”

Leliana placed a hand against her chest, to feel the beating underneath.  It would be so easy to let go.  To give in to the heartache and become the Nightingale, once again.  But where would vengeance be had?  Against the darkspawn?  She could do that just as easily with the Wardens.  There had been a time when she’d known herself so well.  Had known the world inside and out.  Now?  Darkness seemed everywhere and she did not know where to turn.

“Sten?  What’s wrong?”

The giant, foreign warrior strode toward the women.  His brow furled deeply and Leliana wondered once again how safe it could be to travel with the qunari.  He stopped before them, biting his lips and obviously fighting over his words.

“Warden.”  He said, his voice serious.  “I am in need of assistance.”

“Alright,” she said hesitantly.  “What can I do for you?”

Long silences were normal when conversing with Sten, but Leliana had never seen him look so upset while deciding which words to use.  He frowned and clenched his fists and—dare she say it?—looked adorable.  His bottom lip stuck out, and if she hadn’t known him better, she’d say he was pouting.

“I need some of your coins.”  He said, staring not at the women, but at a point on the wall behind them.

“You need money?”  The Warden said in surprise.  “What on earth for?”

He growled.  “There is a vendor here in the market.  They require more coin than I have for their wares.”

“A vendor is selling something you actually want?  Well, I never thought I’d’ see the day.  And what is this prize?”

“The human called them…gyngerbrede cookies.  She let me try one.  Though will not surrender more without coin.”

“You can’t afford a cookie?”  Leliana asked as the Warden reached for her coin pouch.  “What have you done with your share of wages?”

Sten turned his glare upon the Orlesian.  “I do not want one cookie.  I want all of them.  For that, I have insufficient coin.”

The women stared at him.  In an impressive feat, the Warden managed to keep a straight face as she handed over a handful of silvers.  Sten thanked her, grudgingly, and left them.  They waited until he’d rounded a distant corner before bursting into laughter.

“Can you just imagine?”  The Warden said, wiping at her eyes.  “ _Sten_!  Covered in cookies.  How many could he possibly eat?”

“And just think,” Leliana said, biting her finger.  “For that poor terrified baker.  He must be horrifying!” 

The Warden burst into laughter again, clutching Leliana’s arm.  “Oh.  I haven’t laughed like that since…”

She did not finish her sentence, but Leliana could gather her meaning.  “I know what you mean.”

The Warden smiled, and, much to Leliana’s surprise, leaned in and kissed her cheek.  “Come on.  There will time for emotion later.  Let’s find Alistair and pay Brother Genitivi a visit.  Then we can all join on this mad quest for Andraste’s ashes.”

Leliana nodded, her heart racing and a her cheeks flushed.  The Warden was as opposite as could be from Marjolaine.  Though, much like the chantry in Lothering, perhaps this was exactly what Leliana needed.  She would work her damndest to ensure _this_ ending would be a good one.


	4. The Pearl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isabela features in this chapter! I will fully admit, despite her fictional status, I have a lady-boner for the lady pirate. Please keep in mind, I write Isabela as DA2 version of her more than DAOrigins version. Though I reuse a lot of dialogue from her intro scene, but with some fun sexy times twists. 'Cause it's Isabela! Thanks to all for the kudos and support.

Isabela breathed deeply and stretched, the cotton of her bodice straining against her magnificent tits.  More than a few of the Pearl’s patrons paused their various activities to watch.  Will the fabric hold?  Will it tear and her luscious bosoms spill forth?  Would they quiver in embarrassment--or delight--as she blushed and looked away?

The pirate grinned to herself as the fantasy played out in her head.  One arm snaked around the elf next to her.  She leaned down to whisper in his delicately pointed ear.

“I’ve got a sovereign for you…if you can find it.”

“Again?” Zevran said slipping his hand around to her inner thigh.  “We’ll have to pay for the room again.”

“Do we?”

She slipped her leg over his and dipped her fingers into the collar of his armor.  Zev growled in appreciation and his hand slid to the top of her thigh, nestling in the warmth he found.  His other hand teased gently along the underside of her breasts.  Not one to miss out on the fun, Isabela leaned close, trailing her tongue along the point of his ear.

“Hey!  Wench!”

Isabela groaned, dropping her head to Zev’s shoulder.  All she wanted was a bit of hedonistic fun without interruption.  Was that too much to ask?

They looked up as Zev extracted himself from her quivering nethers.  By Andraste’s tit, she would make any bastard pay for interrupting her pleasure.  Especially, these—

“Classless, smelly, talentless cowards.”  Isabela said, snatching the playing cards and shuffling them absentmindedly, she glared at the three men standing around their table.

“Stop playing games, Isabela.”  The large, stupid one said.  “We want our money!”

“Is your memory faulty?  You were paid.”

“Don’t get too worked up, my darling.”  Zev said, pressing his lips against her bare shoulder.  “You’ll ruin all my hard work relaxing you.”

“We ‘ent get ‘alf of what was our due.”  The short, stupid looking one said.  “An’ after we done the job what was told us.”

“I paid you what you deserved.  If you cowards run at the first sign of guards, you don’t get full pay.”

The woman stood, loosening her weapons as she did.  They took a step back.

“I think you forget who you are speaking to.”  She said and stepped around the table.  “I’ll give you a chance to leave.  Quietly.”

“You brazen hussy.”  The handsome, stupid looking one said.  “Someone needs to put you in your place.”

It would be a lie to say she wasn’t the teensiest bit happy the useless thugs had shown up.  Thanks to their cowardice, the city guard had nearly ruined a job that took weeks to step up.  Now, she could work off some of the frustrations they’d fostered.

Thugs like these were all the same.  Wide swings and lumbering jerks.  She danced among them, slamming the pommel of her sword into ribs and groins.

“She’s too good!”

Two of the goons ran, leaving the last to limp after them, clutching his balls.

“Be off with you!”  She shouted, grabbing her mug of ale.  “And be glad I only took from you your gold.”

“Isabela,” Zev said, seriously, his hand sliding over her ass while she breathed heavily.  “We are going to need that room.”

A small group approached her table.  Though they were well armed, it did not look to Isabela that they were after a fight.  A woman led the way, grace and strength in her step.  She dressed casually, in a woman’s tunic, though studded leather covered her legs.  A bruise brushed her cheekbone and a bloody cut stained her lip.

“My friends!”  Zev cried in delight.  “What sort of trouble have you been getting into?  I cannot believe you would have all the fun without me.”

“It seems you’ve been finding your own fun.”  The man said, his eyes trailing to where the elf’s hand rested on her backside. 

The woman grinned and when Isabela looked at her and the man from the corner of her eye it was as though a shadow fell upon them.  A darkness behind their eyes.  A chill ran through the pirate.  She seen their kind before.

“Grey Wardens?  Charmed.  And here  I thought your kind were all killed or exiled from this place.”

The two exchanged a look.

“Ah, don’t look so surprised.  I’ve seen many of your kind in my journeys and there is always something…odd about you.  Grey Warden or no, it is refreshing to see another woman who answers to no one.”

“Perhaps some introductions are in order, Zevran.”  The woman said.

“Indeed.  Allow me to introduce Isabela.  Queen of the eastern seas and the finest swordplay in Llowelyn.”

“You’re _traveling_ with the Wardens?”  Isabela asked in surprise.  “And here I thought taking my husband’s assassin as a lover was an amusing twist of fate.”

“Your…what?”  The male Warden said.

Zev shrugged.  “Beyond Wardens they are the Lady Cousland and Alistair, the bastard son of Meric, here to claim the throne of Ferelden.”

“Quiet down, would you?”  Alistair hissed.

“We’d rather not have _any_ of our identities advertised, actually.”  She said, taking a seat at the table.  “We’re not that popular here in Denerim.  It would best to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible.”

“It does not appear that you are doing a very good job of it.”  Zev said, pointing toward the Warden’s face.  “Not that I’m complaining, but where is your armor?”

She grimaced.  “Just a bit of mistaken identity.  Wade is repairing the armor now.  But the good news is we’ll soon be on our way to Haven.  A little town east of Redcliffe.”

“East of Redcliffe?”  Zev said, frowning.  “I fail to see the good news in this.”

“You would have fared better than I.”  The Warden said, pointing toward Isabela.  “Your fighting skills are quite impressive.”

“Saw that little drama, did you?”  She said, preening at the praise.  “Those brutes could never be a match for me.  They’re too clumsy and predictable.  I fight with quickness and wit, not brute force.  I call myself a duelist because I honed my skills in duels with warriors over the years. ”

“Do you think you could teach me?”

Isabela blinked.  “An unusual request, coming from a fearsome slayer of darkspawn.”

She considered the other woman carefully.  There was an air about her, one of poise and subtlety.  She’d moved quietly enough that, had Zev not said anything, Isabela might not have noticed her approach.  Which meant she certainly had the basics down.  But traveling with Zev didn’t speak much for her character.  Isabela wasn’t about to pass along her hard won secrets to just anyone.  Zev had been trying to kill the Wardens, after all.  Professionally, but still, the Lady Cousland spared him.  Anyone willing to do that was either a fool or madder than a fox.

“I am flattered…sweet thing.”

Isabela dropped the tone of her voice right into seduction to watch the woman’s reaction.  Alistair shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a light blush crawling across his cheeks.  His companion, however, grinned.    Isabela raised an eyebrow at that.  Nobility that didn’t blush in the midst of all the Pearl’s glory?  Now that piqued her interest.

“But I shall not pass along my knowledge to just anyone.  I’d prefer to know my potential student better,” Isabela continued, setting the deck of cards in the center of the table.  “Come.  We shall call for a drink and you will honor me with a game.  If you can beat me, I’ll teach you.”

Zev waived the serving wench over and they all settled with a fresh mug of ale.  Well, as fresh as the Pearl had to offer.

“All right,” the Warden said.  “What game?”

“Have you ever played Wicked Grace?  It is easy to learn and difficult to master.  You must watch your opponents moves as carefully as your own.”

“There are far more exciting ways to get to know someone.”  Zev suggested, trailing his fingers along the length of Isabela’s arm.  He raised his eyebrows at them.  “And with this many players, there could a great deal of watching.”

Isabela grinned at the elf, but his gaze was fixed on the Warden.  The pirate followed his look, surprised to find the other woman smiling as well, with only a slight flush staining her cheeks.  Alistair’s face had gone beet red.  What delights the four of them could get up to.

“Perhaps,” the Warden said, eyes on Alistair, “We’d best try more traditional means of acquainting ourselves.”

Zev shrugged casually and leaned away from the table.  “Your loss, then.”

Well, well.  This _was_ a surprise.  Unless Isabela was mistaken, which she almost never was—except for that one time in Nevarra with those dancers—Zev was jealous.  Only just a bit.  And the way he watched the Warden made her think he didn’t even realize what he was doing.  How wickedly lovely.  Should she burst his little bubble?

“More’s the pity.”  Isabela said, smiling to herself.  “Before we start the cards must be shuffled.  Shall I, or would you like to do it?”

“Go ahead.”  The Warden said, bowing her head politely.

“There is a certain grace to what I do,” Isabela said, the cards sliding through her fingers.  “A confidence required.  Battles can be won before they are even begun.  Perhaps, not when facing darkspawn, but that same confidence could be the difference needed to save your lovely hide.”

She adjusted the cut of her bodice, casually drawing the eyes of all at the table to her cleavage and away from the cards she artfully arranged in the deck.

“The size of your opponent only determines your approach.  Even the strongest warriors have weak points.”

“Yes…weak points.”  Zev said, dropping a hand on Alistair’s forearm.  “Let’s discuss all the points that make you quiver, shall we?”

The man cleared his throat and stood, thumping the table as he did.  “Does anyone want a drink?  Another one, that is.  Some fresh air?  I’ll get you some air.”

“Ah, chantry virgins.”  Isabela sighed with a smile as Alistair practically dashed away from their table.  “They’re so adorable.  And eager.  Oh, I haven’t had one in ages.”

The Warden shot her a dark look as the pirate’s gaze followed the former templar.  Isabella chuckled and dealt the cards to herself and the Warden. 

“Five cards each.  And may the cleverest player win.”

Tensions in the group, then?  Zev wasn’t one for sticking his pecker between a couple unless it was welcome.  And given the apparent virginity of at least one member of the love birds, she doubted a first night had even come along for them, let alone anything more exotic.

“Ah, an excellent card for me.”  Isabela feigned surprise at her shockingly lucky hand.  Quite a nice act, if she did say so herself.

“I never really cared for virgins.”  Zev said, draining his mug and grabbing Alistair’s.  “Give me an experienced merchant’s wife eager to get her hands on an elf and I will stand ready at attention.”

The two women laid out their bets and the Warden stared thoughtfully off to the side.

“I was with an elf once.  It was…nice.”

Zev froze, the mug halfway back to the table.

“Scandal in the noble’s house?”  Isabela gasped in delight.  “Who was he?  A kitchen boy?  One of the stablemen?”

“The handmaiden of a visiting noblewoman.”

Zev and Isabela stared at her in stunned silence.  The Warden smiled at them, ducking her head in embarrassment as she shifted in her chair.  The very portrait of innocence.

“Well…it’s not that unusual.”  She said, waving a hand at the two of them. 

Zev grabbed Isabela’s arm, his fingers digging into her bicep.  He growled in her ear.  “I’m going to get that room again.”

He left the women at the table, walking awkwardly toward the front desk.

“ _Mmm,_ ” the pirate said, watching him leave as she flipped over the next card.  “Perhaps just the one round for us, then?  Ah, the Angel of Death card.  The game is over, we must show our hands.”

They turned their cards over, Isabela eager to win and follow Zev to a night of carnal delights.  She froze.

“I ha-have nothing.  I must not have been paying attention.  I—wait a minute.”

Her cards _were_ on the table, though not in front of her. 

“Those are _my_ cards.  Did you steal them from me?”

The Warden smirked at her, all traces of girlishness gone.

“Without me noticing?”

She nodded.

“That is…”  Isabela’s heart fluttered.  “Truly extraordinary.  I don’t know how you did it but…you’ve definitely made an impression.”

“My father once told me,” the Warden said a confidence in her voice that hadn’t been there before.  “It isn’t the size of your opponent that matters, it’s the tools you bring to the conflict.  I’ve come to learn he wasn’t just talking of battle.”

“You clever girl.”  Isabela leaned back, studying her opponent.  Her own philosophy used to trick her.  She’d nearly forgotten how damn lovely women could be.  Men had all sorts of fantastic uses, but she couldn’t recall the last time one of them had bested her in a battle of wits. 

Without warning, Isabela pushed herself over the table and pressed her lips against the Warden’s.  The woman started in surprise, grasping Isabela’s shoulders though she did not push her away.  Strange feelings stirred in the pirate, a desire that frightened her.  There was something in this Warden she longed for…but it wasn’t quite right.  Curse her superstitious Rivanni mother and her fortune telling. 

She took her lower lip into her mouth and ran her tongue along the supple flesh.  Before she had a chance to think more about it, Isabela pulled away, pleased to bits at the expression on the Warden’s face.

“Didn’t expect that, did you, kitten?”

The Warden just stared at her, breathing heavily. 

“You have well and truly proved yourself to be quick and resourceful.  It would be my honor to pass my skills along to you.  Let us hurry, though.  I have an elf eager to ravish me thoroughly and I find myself quite in need of his attentions.”


	5. Among the Thorns

It was strange to be back in Redcliffe. Many things had changed and yet not nearly so much as he would have thought. Eamon’s wife was even more of an Orlesian cow than remembered her to be. The damn woman’s pride nearly killed the family three times over at least. What had possessed Eamon to marry an Orlesian, anyway? Ferelden had only just gotten rid of their lot.

Alistair sighed. It didn’t matter at this point. Against all odds, the whole situation turned out remarkably well. Eamon had woken and everyone survived. Even the filthy blood mage. Had Duncan known he brought a mage-sympathizer into the Wardens with his new recruit? Then again, Duncan probably wouldn’t have cared. If you could survive the Joining and lift a weapon against the darkspawn, that was all he needed of you. Training under him had been a freeing experience in comparison to the Chantry. Apart from knocking back a pint of darkspawn blood and the constant nightmares of the end of days, at any rate.

He snagged the end of the mint stalk next to him and munched on the leaves. All around him, in the stone and architecture of the city, were impressions of his childhood. There were the dock supports he once built a fort underneath to fight off invading Orlesians. Isolde hadn’t cared much for that one. And over there he’d held the cliff against an arch demon atop the back of a mighty griffon.

What would that boy think of him now? A failed templar, full of darkspawn blood, and now heir to the throne. King of Ferelden.

The thought turned his stomach sour.

His Warden senses tingled, drawing his attention to the edge of the field. Not darkspawn, just the subtle taint of another Warden. If it hadn’t been for their blood connection, he wouldn’t have heard her approach at all. Even among the gravel she moved silently. She knew as well as he did they could feel one another. Why bother being so quiet?

“I thought you said this would pass.” She said around a mouthful of food.

He glanced over as she shoved the last of a small meat pie into her mouth. In her other hand was a large sheet of waxed parchment with three more pies.

“It does pass.” He said, taking one of the pies from her and ignoring the dark look she gave him. “Perhaps you’re just naturally like this. Armor feeling a bit snug, lately?”

She punched his arm, her leather clad fist _thunking_ uselessly against his chainmail.

They stood in silence, watching the breeze play over the lake and through the wildflowers. Not the comfortable sort of silence he was used to from Duncan. More of an awkward silence in which not only did he not know what to say, but he didn’t know how to talk about not knowing what to say. She kept having this effect on him. It was quite annoying. He ended up blurting all sorts of things he hadn’t meant to.

“Are you happy with how things turned out, then?” He said when he could take the silence no longer. She must want to talk about something. Why else would she have sought him out?

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Am I happy that an alarming number of the Castle’s population suffered violent deaths while the townsfolk lived in terror for a fortnight slaying their former kin? Happy that a small child endured the torment of a vile demon? Happy to learn the Teyrn Loghain, in his desperation, would stoop to even this?”

His face reddened. “That isn’t—I didn’t mean—“

“I know you didn’t.” She smiled sadly at him and gestured toward the castle with another pie. “But when you live too long up there, it’s easy to forget about this.”

She pointed to the town around them. Mo and a team of younger villagers had set about breaking down the barricades. A woman emerged from the abandoned shop they’d found the oil in and collapsed into sobs next to the door. Up on the hill, the blacksmith’s daughter hugged him tightly as he handed over a crate of liquor to Dwyn.

“That’s…a different way of thinking of things.” Alistair said, guilt gnawing at him.

“They’re my father’s words.” She said, stretching her arms above her head. “When I was a girl I wanted to have a giant feast toward the end of winter. Mother had bought me a dress from an Orlesian merchant and I wanted to show it off. I gave little thought for the needs of the town or shortages in the store houses. I wanted it and I, a nobleman’s daughter, should get what I want.”

She laughed. “Oh, what a fit I threw.”

She shook her head, her hand absently playing with the necklace around her neck. “Of course, father took me aside and lectured me about fairness and the responsibilities a noble has to her fealty. It was the last bit that really stuck with me…all these years.”

She nibbled thoughtfully on the pie crust. “I don’t even think he was really talking about the castle.”

“That’s wise counsel.” Alistair said.

She smirked at him. “Does this make me an advisor to the King?”

He winced theatrically. “Maker, don’t say that. It’s bad enough having Eamon shoving me at the throne.”

She chuckled.

“You’re really not mad I didn’t tell you?”

“Well, a year ago I might’ve been. Just think of all the juicy gossip I could’ve brought to court.”

“Huh.” He said, looking at her. “I never pictured you as a Lady.”

She leveled a glare at him that would have scared off an ogre.

“No, no, no. Not like that.” He waved his hands in front himself. “I mean one of those gossipy shrews that spend more time fussing over Antivan silk that doing anything useful. As for dresses and finery, you…”

It occurred then to Alistair that he’d hardly ever seen her in anything but battledress. She and Duncan arrived at Ostagar already travel weary and battle worn. A plain tunic and trousers was all any of them wore when sleeping. But looking at her now, in the fields around Redcliffe, it wasn’t hard to picture her in the fine dresses noble ladies wore. The way she stood, regal and sure of herself, no wonder she’d become the leader of their little group.

“I’m sure you’d make a beautiful Lady.” He said, voice low and serious.

She smiled at him with a slight flush at her cheeks. Come to think of it, why hadn’t he noticed before how lovely she was? In the heat of battle, sweat and blood glistening on her armor. The ferocity with which she struck down the blighted creatures and her unwavering discipline on the field. It was almost surreal to sit with her among the flowers and make jokes. She made his heart flutter with her beauty. He should tell her. He would tell her. Right now.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember.” She said in a low voice.

He froze. “Remember?”

“Granted, it was quite a while ago and I was a lot younger.”

“Younger?” His voice cracked.

She nodded. “It was the Spring festival Eamon held, oh, over a decade ago now. I was a tiny thing back then. Barely fit into the dress mother made for me.”

She smiled sadly, crumpling the parchment and picking at the last pie. “I was young enough that I still hated dances and balls. My brother had just realized how interesting court ladies could be, so I was left to entertain myself.

“The food at the party was dreadful! I was famished. And the cakes looked so lovely.”

The memory clicked in his head. “That was _you_?”

“That scullery cook was about to chop my hand off! And I thought Nan was bad.”

“You’d taken the entire cake!” He laughed.

“It wasn’t all for me.” She huffed. “My mabari wouldn’t eaten most of it.”

“I’d forgotten all about that night.” He grinned. “You were lucky I’d had so much practice running from Lizzet. I wonder if she’s still here.”

“She isnt’.” She said with the sort of finality that made his heart sink.

They fell into silence again. The evening bugs came to life, chirping all about and a warm breeze brushed over them. Alistair sighed. How was one supposed to manage it? Duncan would have known what to say. He always knew what to say…how to deal with emotions and all that. Alistair should’ve paid more attention.

“Life was so much simpler back then,” he said, stretching his legs out. “No blight, no royal treachery, no sleeping on the cold ground every night…”

“Ah, beds,” she sighed, looking wistfully at Eamon’s castle. “It does tempt one to stay a bit longer."

“The beds aren’t the best part. You haven’t even found the secret passage to the kitchens.”

She grabbed his arm, staring at him seriously. “Do not toy with me, templar. Is there actually a secret passage? Tell me, or I shall pry this information from you!”

He chuckled. “Do your worst, Warden. You’ll never get my secrets.”

“Oh, ho,” she said, raising to her knees, hands poised to strike. “You’ll regret—“

“Wardens! I’m glad to have found you.”

They turned to see Teagan approach and rose from the cold packed dirt. Though dark circles still clung beneath his eyes, the man had mostly returned to himself. Eamon’s recovery had certainly bolstered his spirits.

“I heard a rumor you intended to leave this afternoon.” He said, barely looking at Alistair.

“You heard correctly.” She said. “If we leave now, we can make it to the main road by mid-sun tomorrow. With any luck, we’ll make it to Orzimmar and back before the snow sets in.”

“A pity. We haven’t had a proper chance to show you Redcliffe hospitality. And we owe you so much.” He said, smiling at her in a fashion Alistair had seen Teagan use on many court ladies. Alistair frowned.

“Redcliff has much to recover from, Bann Teagan. I wouldn’t want to trespass on your hospitality when the need is so great.”

“Unfathomably lovely, kind and a fearsome warrior. Tell me, my Lady, do you have any faults?”

“Many, I’m afraid.” She bowed her head. “You are too generous, ser.”

“Hardly.” He laughed, resting a hand low on her back. “Come. At the very least allow me to provide supplies for your journey to the folk of the stone. The days will grow shorter soon and you’ll need more lamp oil than you expect.”

Teagan turned toward Alistair and bowed slightly. “With your leave, ser.”

Alistair stood there a moment before he realized Teagan was actually waiting for a response. He frowned and nodded toward the Bann who smiled tersely at him as they left. Evidently, Eamon had shared the news of his plan. That would explain the looks the household staff had given him recently. In the castle, gossip spread faster than darkspawn.

Alistair sighed as Teagan guided her into an ox-led cart. It just wasn’t fair. He’d never even known his father and now his entire fate had been decided because the man couldn’t keep his hands off a common maid. He glared as Teagan laughed loudly at something the Warden said. How obvious did the man have to be? It was pathetic, really.

And all that business about how lovely the Warden was. Nonsense, coming from Teagan. Alistair had thought it first. And he _would_ have said so. The words were just…difficult.

He headed up the cliff side, more black hearted than when he’d arrived at the field. She was the most confusing noblewoman he’d ever met. It didn’t help matters that she more often made a better Grey Warden than he did. And she hadn’t even gone through proper training. It came so naturally to her. All the things that would be expected of him—leadership, courage, decisiveness and poise—things that sent him into a panic attack just thinking of, were as easy as breathing to her. So much for noble qualities be passed on through birth.

A small voice in the back of his mind chided him for being unjust toward his traveling companion. They were the last of the Wardens. His puppy love and petty jealousy wouldn’t be any help against an Archdemon.

He reached the top of the slope and paused to catch his breath. At the base of a support pillar, an unhealthy shrub clung to life, its thorny vines wrapped around the post. One bloom struggled against all odds, its red petals catching the setting sunlight and causing it to flame with color. It caught his attention, swaying slightly in the breeze. How unlikely to find something so delicate amid all the destruction and chaos of the Blight.

He stared at it for a long while before plucking the blossom. It reminded him of her. Maybe it could say to her all the words he couldn’t quite find. Maybe she would like it. Maybe she would smile for him. That would be worth any awkwardness on his part.

 

 


End file.
